Occupational Hazard
by ProngsLovesRent
Summary: Roger never gets up off his ass. His friends decide to try to help him get a job. Can he last a day without getting fired from something? Could he ever be successful at anything other than angsting? RogerPOV humor fic. PostRent, T for language.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Yuhp, another Roger-centric fic that I came up with the idea for a while ago. I'm not sure how many chapters it will be, depending on how it goes. So read and review.**

Disclaimer: No matter how many times I forget to say so, I'll sadly never own RENT. That's Jon's job.

I don't ask much from the world, and in return the world leaves me the hell alone.

I eat, sleep, angst, rock, and fuck. It's depressing and pathetic, I know. Those incredibly hollow, guilty pleasures are my whole life. And to be honest, I am one hundred percent okay with that. Roger Davis just wasn't meant to get out there and join the human race. I'd rather stay in the loft, thanks. So you can imagine how confused I was when after walking up the stairs to the loft, I was randomly knocked unconscious, only to come around at my own intervention.

Let me explain…

It was a…_somewhat_ average day. I mean, no day can be completely average when you're friends with the people I'm friends with. The only abnormal thing that could be said about this one was that I had just done a load of laundry for the first time in my whole life. I don't know how I'd managed to go over two decades without touching a washing machine or a dryer, they're brilliant inventions.

Not even joking. Have you ever watched clothes spin around and around in a hypnotically soapy SPIRAL OF INSANITY?

Yeah, I didn't think so. It's magical. And then your shit comes out smelling like pretty flowers. And I bet you're suddenly fighting an urge to take a ride to the nearest Laundromat.

So there I was, looking deliciously domestic with my laundry basket of detergent-smelling plaid, scarves, and boxers. I got to experience the miracle of doing laundry, and I had an excuse not to get off my ass for another month. I was just about to slide open the door to the loft. Life was good.

That was when something that looked an awful lot like a hockey stick sailed towards my face and collided with my forehead. Yes; it hurt like hell. I had hit the ground and blacked out faster than you can say, "OH MY GOOD GOLLY GOSH!"

When I finally came around months later, I couldn't even remember my name.

Okay, maybe it was only a few hours later and maybe there was no memory damage at all, but I had THEE WORST headache. My arms and legs felt stiff. I couldn't move them. I could've sworn I was paralyzed. My head was pounding so much that I couldn't open my eyes, so I lay there for a few minutes, just listening. Trying to figure out who my attackers were.

"I still don't understand why the hell you knocked him out and tied him up!" Meems? It sounded like Mimi… Did she kill me? Or was I in Heaven? Why was Mimi there? Did she die too? WHO THE FUCK HIT ME WITH A HOCKEY STICK?

Those are the questions that plagued me…

"Well you all SAID that we were going to bound and gag him!" A second voice griped. This one was definitely not Mimi. Much deeper, and, well, male…er. Langston Hughes? He's dead! Maybe I WAS in Heaven. Or it could be Collins. Yeah, that would make more sense.

"We weren't serious! Why would we want to bound and gag Roger?" I knew that voice right away. Maureen. Even in Heaven, her voice was as irritating as ever. Sad how I knew her voice before my own girlfriend's. '_Bound and gag_.' That was when I realized I wasn't paralyzed. I was bound in ropes. Well that's…cute.

"Why would you joke about bounding and gagging? Huh?" Collins countered. Good point, Collins. Very good point.

"BECAUSE IT MADE US FEEL LIKE SPIES!" Maureen cried. How typical of my friends…To nearly kill me because it made them feel like spies, "We were just going to wait for Roger in the fucking loft dipshit! Now he's dead!"

"He's not dead, Honeybear," Who else but Joanne? "He's breathing. And as intimidating as Collins can be, I don't think he'd murder Roger with a hockey stick."

I think that would depend on what I'd done to him.

"Thank you, Joanne," said Langston Hughes-Collins, "Anyone with half a brain knows that when someone is BREATHING, they're generally alive."

Maureen pouted. Not that I could see her, but I bet she did. She's Maureen.

"Well, it's going to be kind of hard to have an intervention if he's unconscious…" A geekier, more nasally voice added. Go figure. Mark was there too. What a strange place… I wasn't sure exactly what an intervention was, but it sounded like something that might be important in deciding whether I got to Heaven or Hell. So I decided I might want to participate. With all the incredible strength I could muster, I opened my eyes.

"ROGER! YOU ARE ALIVE!" Mimi exclaimed, lunging at me with a hug before I could sit up fully, no one bothering to untie me.

"_This isn't a cloud, it's a table…"_ I mumbled, "We're not in Heaven…WE'RE IN THE LOFT!" I shouted, coming to a grand realization.

Mark leaned over to whisper in Collins's ear, "_Do you think he's suffering brain trauma?_"

"I heard that!" Mark was never a good whisperer.

Mimi let me out of the embrace, "Roger, I'm so sorry! We didn't mean to get you in here like _this_, it was Collins." Her eyes darted to him for a second and she glared, then directed her attention back at me, "Are you feeling okay?"

"Are you sure I'm not dead?" I guess I really wanted to be dead. Maybe because Heaven sounds pretty great in comparison to a loft with no furniture or heating.

Hell sounds good compared to a loft with no furniture or heating…

"Boy, you're not dead." Collins sighed, "You're fine."

"I'm in pain!" I snapped.

"You'll survive," Joanne added.

"But babe…now that you're awake-" Maureen added, trailing off and looking at the rest of them for support.

"What? I'm dying, aren't I?!" I asked, wide-eyed.

"Roger…" Mimi started, "the reason we needed to talk to you-"

"The reason we needed an intervention," Joanne supplied.

"Right, the reason we needed an intervention," Mimi hesitated, "Mark you want to take it from here?"

Mark heaved an exasperated sigh, "Roger, we think you need to get a job."

**A/N: So yeah, let me know what you thought and whether I should ditch it or continue it. The next chapter would be the actual intervention, and then the rest would be several different jobs Roger attempts to succeed in with the help of the Bohos. Reviews are love. **


	2. The Intervention

**A/N: So I figured it was about time to take a shot at updating good old Occupational Hazard. Yeah James, 2:11am is a fucking dandy time to update your fic.**

**See? I'm talking to myself. I'm insane. It's late. Pity me. Read, review. Ready, set, go.**

**OH WAIT, I'm gonna dedicate this one to Adam Pascal. He's the fucking coolest guy… Mister Pascal, the note that you wrote to my sister while she was in the hospital made her SO incredibly happy. Thank you SO much.**

**Now, read.**

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" I cried wildly at the top of my lungs. Who were these people?! Certainly not my friends! _MY_ friends knew very well that I did not and never would WORK! So I wasn't dead, it was much, much worse. Suddenly, I understood what an intervention was.

"Calm down, boy!" Collins exclaimed, taking a drag off a joint, "It's just a job, we've all had jobs!" They all stared at me as if I'd gone out of my mind. HAH, that's funny. They hit me with a hockey stick, tie me up, expect me to work for a living, and_ I'm_ the one out of my mind?

"YOU'LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!" I shouted. In all my despair and hysteria, I tried to flail my arms and leap off the table, forgetting that there were ropes keeping me from doing such things. So instead of jumping to my feet, I ended up planting my face on the ground, "NEVER!" I yelled into the floorboards.

I bet the ropes were Mark's idea. Some best friend he was.

"Roger!" Mimi exclaimed, rushing over to untie the ropes, Joanne stopped her.

"Mimi, NO. The minute you untie him he'll run for it." She advised, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her back.

Of course I'd fucking run for it Joanne! Thanks for ruining that chance for me!

"I would _not_…" I mumbled, "I never liked you, Joanne!" I glared daggers at her. She just rolled her eyes. Pfft. As if my eye-daggers had no affect on her. Inwardly, they were tearing her flesh to mere scraps. She was howling in pain. But she kept it all inside…

I know, I tend to have that affect on people.

Mark sighed, "Rog, this could be GOOD for you! A real JOB! With paychecks, and co-workers, and dress-codes that don't include PLAID or _leather_! And _responsibility_, an-"

I tuned him out after the responsibility thing. The whole responsible kick, yeah…I've tried it. It's not me. The passion he talked about it with frightened me. I worry for that guy…When I tuned back in he was going metaphorical on my ass.

"-like a pigeon SPREADING its wings and _soaring_ through Central Park over the heads of allllllllll the drug dealers to peck at unsuspecting small children and take bread from ugly old women who—"

"MARK!" Maureen snapped finally, by then we were all ignoring him, "SHUT THE HELL UP OR THIS STILETTO IS GOING THROUGH YOUR SKULL!" She demanded. Mark's mouth closed immediately.

THAT'S why we keep Maureen around.

She looked down at me, still lying on the floor, "but he's got a _point_, Roger."

THAT'S _not_ why we keep Maureen around.

"He has no point!" I somehow managed to hoist myself up into a sitting position, "I do not want to get a job! I can't get a job! I WON'T get a job! You can't make me go, any of you! I will RESIST, and I will FIGHT and I will go in KICKING AND SCREAMING, you will not get me through those doors if I have to personally make sure that NONE of you wake up tomorrow morning." I threatened. They feared me. I know they did.

Mimi smiled awkwardly at me, "Maybe you could just give it a try?"

"Do it for your friends," Collins said. I hated it when Collins looked at me in that _its-the-right-thing-to-do _way.

I hated it when he played the "Do it for your friends" card.

"But I can't!" I objected, desperately trying to think of a good excuse, when I had a very random, very convenient flashback of myself learning a vocabulary word in the fifth grade. "I'M AN OCCUPATIONAL HAZARD!"

They all stared at me.

Joanne shook her head, "Do you even know what that means?"

I nodded vigorously, suddenly very proud of my crystal-clear flashback, "Occupational hazard: a danger or hazard to workers that is inherent in a particular occupation!"

They just looked at me. They seemed to be doing that a lot.

"You know guys…Like Silicosis is an occupational hazard of miners?" I could barely believe the words coming out of my mouth! I, Roger Davis, had DEFINED. I was INTELLIGENT!

"_WE_ know what it means!" Collins said, "But who knew that YOU knew what it means?"

Maureen tilted her head and squinted at me, like maybe I was just disguised as Roger. Not the REAL Roger. Maybe if she looked at me at some _diagonal_ view I would turn out to secretly be Jerry Springer! Or The Pope! Or Michael Jackson! But I don't think Michael Jackson knows what an occupational hazard is either…

"I KNOW THINGS, OKAY?" Maybe that was the only thing I knew, but it was SOMETHING. I was getting frustrated and GODDAMMIT I was still tied up! "Give me one good reason I should get a job."

Mimi shrugged, "You never have any money to pick up the bill,"

"You spend all day in the loft," Mark added.

"You could use some more friends," Collins supplied, with a grand gesture towards everyone in the room. The only friends I had.

"Getting out could help you think of some more material," Maureen put in, nodding towards my Fender in the corner.

"You wouldn't be so bored anymore, and it could help your confidence." Joanne piped up.

Shit. I should have asked them to give me seven good reasons…

"But…" This was my last chance to come up with a spectacular excuse, their minds were set. "But I did LAUNDRY today!" I told them all desperately, smiling my killer smile. They weren't won over.

For the gazillionth time, they all just stared.

"You're getting a job." The group announced in unison.

And I guess that was that.

**A/N: Hmm, it was kind of short. But the first two chapters are sort of prologueish. Next we get into the actual getting a job part…Did YOU like it? It **_**could**_** be okay, but its 3:12am and I'm not sure which way ****is up.**

**Please review!**

**With Cap'n Crunch and Stoli pouring out of the Bohemian wazoo,**

**ProngsLovesRent**


	3. My Filing Castle

**A/N: And I return for another chapter. But here's the thing: I'm not getting a lot of reviews, so I don't know if you're all liking this or not. So if _this chapter_ gets at least hmm…let's say 6 reviews (and make 'em good ones) I'll continue the story. If it doesn't, I'll scrap it and go back to my one shots. Deal? A'rite.  
**  
**The basic concept for this chapter was provided by SiriusLovesRent. Who hates my very guts at the moment, so this better fix that. Anyway, there are scattered lines and concepts from Dead Like Me, if you know it. Ready, set, read!  
**  
I couldn't help but pray that the whole intervention had just been a really strange nightmare.

Like, just _maybe _it had all been conjured up by my subconscious. Maybe no one would remember anything about a demand for me to get a job. I wouldn't have to go on a job hunt or even think about _working_ for a living. Ugh, working. Just the sound of it made me cringe. When I rolled over in bed the next morning, I crossed my fingers, hoping the other day had all been a dream.

So you could imagine my dismay when instead of waking up to a bright, sunny, new day, I came face to face with-

"HOLY SHIT!"

Benjamin Coffin III.

My eyes widened in downright panic. I mean, it's not every day you wake up to your best-friend-turned-enemy staring at you, a few inches away from your face. It wasn't a fun thing. I looked around wildly for an explanation, ready to call 911 and inwardly wanting it to be just another dream.

"Benny, what the fuck are you doing here!? In the loft?! By my bed?!" I demanded, scared shitless.

"Good morning to you too, Roger." Benny said with a nod, kneeling at my bedside.

"_Please_ tell me this is a nightmare," I sat up straight, and grabbed a pillow to cover my exposed torso, suddenly feeling sort of violated.

"The feeling is mutual," he snapped sourly. If it's so mutual why are you watching me sleep?

"Dude, okay, I know you want the rent, but don't you think this is taking it a little bit too far? I mean, there are these things called personal space…and _breaking and entering_," I pointed out, wanting nothing more than for him to leave so I could go back to sleep. I wanted to know what was going on.

"I'm not here to collect the rent," he explained, getting to his feet, "although if I was, it'd be completely legal for me to show up here, I'm your landlord."

"Then, my dear yuppie, would you mind telling me what the fuck you're doing?"

"I'm here because your friends _asked_ me to come, if you must know."

I hate my friends.

"Why would they do that?" I asked. Then my eyes fell on something draped over a chair in the corner. "Oh no," My face dropped. A suit. I jumped out of my bed. "NO WAY! They asked you to try to help me get a job!? No, no, no, no, no, _NO_! I _hate_ you! They know that! Why would I take a job handout from YOU with your stupid string-pulling, rich father-in-law? No! I'm not doing it! Get out of here!" I exclaimed, flailing my arms around wildly with every sentence. The ultimate betrayal. It wasn't as much my loathing towards Benny, as the fact that I was being made into a charity case.

Did I mention I hate my friends?

"Listen, I'm not here to make you _happy_. I'm here doing a favor for Mark, Maureen, and Collins. I'm here to get you employed, and to get you into that suit. So put the thing on, pretty-boy. You don't have to do it for me. Do it for your friends." He eyed me irritably.

There was that phrase again! _Do it for your friends_. But the way he said it was a hell of a lot different from the way Collins had said it the day before. He didn't feel like fighting with me _or_ being friends with me.

"If I won't take advice from my best friends, why would I take any advice from you?" I asked. It was a good enough question too. It's not like I owed him anything.

Benny sighed, shaking his head at me, "Because you're a slacker and a loser, and maybe you might want to listen to the friends you still have and do something for yourself. Get off your ass for the first time in years and be _thankful_ for the favors that you don't deserve."

I hated Benny, but he was right. And part of me felt like he was, in his weird asshole Benny way, trying to help me out.

I glared at him. "Fine. I'll do whatever the hell it is. But only because _they_ want me to. Don't expect me to bow to you or even say thank you." I advised.

He shook his head again, but almost smiling this time, "Just put on the suit."

* * *

I immediately hated the place.

Cubicles. Cubicles are so fucking…cube-y. With their stupid squareness and _precision and order_. You just want to spray paint one of them purple or something. Make it different. Instead of the absolutely identical workspaces they all sit in. Benny walked alongside me through the large room.

And yeah, I was wearing a suit.

I am not under any circumstance a suit guy. I'm not a suit guy, I'm not a job guy. And yet there I was.

I felt like they were all _staring _at me. Like they knew I didn't belong there.

I swear to god, they were whispering "_Shun the nonbeliever!"_

Or, you know, that could be the Charlie the Unicorn in me talking.

We walked past identical desk after identical desk. A dorky, fresh-faced, teenaged, intern-looking guy eyed me suspiciously. Like any mature man would, I stuck my tongue out at him. He looked highly offended.

Mission accomplished.

"Stop making faces at your co-workers." Benny commanded.

Damn, he caught me…

"I'm not making faces! I'm making _friends_."

"You're so immature."

"I know you are, but what am I?"

"Grow up, Roger."

"Would you rather I have fun, or go into miserable fuck mode?"

"Miserable fuck, please."

"Gotcha."

We finally approached the workspace of a woman who looked to be in about her forties. Numerous pictures of the same cat were plastered to her cubicle. I could've sworn their eyes were following me. But none of their big kitty-cat eyes could match the bulging, smiling eyes of the woman at the desk as she looked up at us.

"Hello boys!" She greeted, beaming from ear to ear.

I hummed the Twilight Zone theme.

"Hi Doreen, this is the guy I spoke to you about, Roger Davis." Benny replied politely, ignoring me.

I tore one of her cat photographs off the wall.

"ROGER!" Benny snapped.

"Oh! Do you like cats, Roger?" She questioned, still smiling at me.

"I hate animals…" I mumbled absentmindedly, discarding the picture carelessly.

Benny shot me a warning glare, and turned to leave me to my interview. I waved at him.

I would make it fun.

I took a seat in the chair in front of Doreen.

"Oh, well I'm sure you don't _hate_ kitties," She said, like maybe it was just something I'd never considered before. Like cats were just a food I'd never taken the time to taste.

"Oh I do. I despise all of nature, really." I mumbled absentmindedly, looking around her cubicle, and spinning in my swivel chair.

Her smile faltered, "Well, that's…that's interesting of you, Roger. I'm sorry, I haven't introduced myself. I'm Doreen and I'll be your career counselor. We're going to find you a job here today, thanks to your friend Benjamin. He's a very nice man."

"_Really_? I actually find him to be a bit of an asshole, Doreen… Can I call you Dory?" I added the second part in as an afterthought.

"Dory?"

I nodded. "Like the fish."

"I'm not sure I know what you're you talking about…"

"That's alright Dory," I had to stifle laughter. It was pretty fun confusing her, but I had to maintain my miserable disposition, "Let's just get this job thing a-rolling, shall we?"

"Certainly, certainly…Now," she looks down at a sheet of paper in front of her, "It says here you have no college degree…"

I hated the way she said it. It made me want to punch her in the face a bit. Like it was _really _something to be ashamed of.

"Uh yeah…" I trailed off. "High school seemed like enough."

"I'm sure…" She said disdainfully. I _was_ managing to wipe the happy off her face, but she was succeeding in making me feel like shit, "So what are you looking to be doing as far as working here?"

"I'm not sure…"

"Well, you could give filing a try."

Oh joy.

"Isn't there something a bit more…interesting? Higher paying?" I enquired; the cats on the walls were glaring at me by that point.

"Well let me be frank, Roger. You don't have much experience at all. And I haven't seen you smile once since you came in here! A sunny disposition goes very far in any line of work. No employer wants a sad sack on their hands!"

Who talks like that?

"I understand…"

"So how about taking a nice shot at filing?" Her smiling resumed and she stood up, "Come with me, I'll show you where you'll be working."

* * *

She led me to a room in the back, isolated from any social interaction. So much for making friends. Stacks of papers and cardboard boxes were piled high against every filing cabinet-lined wall. She explained to me what I was to do in great elaboration while I considered the fact that this room would be a great place for an office-themed porn movie.

"Oh and I almost forgot!" She added, as I tuned back in, "This is for you!"

Gifts?

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a pad of stickers. She pulled one from the top and stuck it to my lapel.

It read: _Hello! I'm New! Ask me my name!_

Oh Yippee…

"Isn't that just darling?" She asked, smiling at the label on my lapel, as if admiring her work. Like sticking a fucking nametag to my jacket was so hard.

"It is just _darling_," I agreed, with the fakest smile I have ever forced onto my face.

"That's what I like to hear!"

And with that, she left me alone in the backroom. What a mistake that was…

As soon as she was gone, I made sure to pencil in a word on my nametag.

It now read: _Hello! I'm New! _**Don't**_ Ask me my name!_

* * *

Two hours later and my masterpiece was almost complete…

It was hard to believe that the whole time no one had come to the back room to check to make sure that the new guy wasn't…I don't know _masturbating _or something on the job.

I didn't feel guilty though. They failed to keep an eye on _me_, Roger Davis. They should've expected trouble from the minute I walked in there. _Dory_ should've realized that I wasn't listening to her speech about filing. Someone should've caught on that I didn't know what the fuck I was doing.

My kingdom was _inevitable_.

Yeah, by kingdom, I mean castle.

I had gotten bored over the time in the backroom, and decided to take on the project of constructing myself a castle out of stacks of important papers and cardboard boxes. And let me tell you, it was pretty fucking cool.

I slowly surrounded myself in a four-year-old's dream kingdom. I would've killed for that many boxes when I was a kid, to build something like that. I was just making up for lost time.

And it never really occurred to me that building a castle would be something you might not want to do in the backroom of an office building. To me, it just sounded like something to pass the time. But maybe it's just me.

I piled another cardboard box onto the front pillar. I was lucky that the room had high ceilings, because it allowed me to stack the papers up to 15 feet. And there was even a _ladder._

It was like those losers were asking me to do it!

I stood back to admire my work, and to come up with a name for my creation.

Roger Kingdom…?

Rogertopia…?

Rogville…?

The dorky intern I had stuck my tongue out at earlier walked into the room, studying a clipboard. "Roger Davis," he started, not looking up at me, "You're needed at Doreen's desk to go over some-HOLY MARY MOTHER OF GOD! WHAT THE HELL IS _THIS_?"

Rog-a-palooza…?

"It's a filing castle, dipshit, what's it look like?"

"You-you can't do this! This is unethical! _This_ is a place of business!" He yelled, freaking out. Clearly he had never had to deal with a Roger Davis in his life. Stupid little intern.

"Give me one reason I can't," I suggested, studying the back pillars rather than directing my full attention to him.

"Because…because-"

The door swung open again.

"Doreen!" He cried thankfully.

"Dory!" I cried, more in a welcoming way, as if she had just arrived at my house-warming party.

"Hello Roger, just-WHAT IS THIS?!" She too didn't seem to understand my brilliance.

"Well I'm not sure yet, I'm still picking a name. But it's my filing kingdom." I explicated, as if absolutely _everyone_ had a _filing kingdom_!

"Doreen, he can't do this!" Dork-O-the-Clown shouted, flustered and angry. He stamped his foot on the ground, whining.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you…"

He continued to stomp, "This is outrageous! You hired this guy without an afterthought and gave him a better job than I have and now he's building castles in the back and-AHHHHH!"

Two of the pillars collapsed on Intern Boy.

"Well, I told him not to stomp…" I said indignantly, "He ruined my kingdom."

Doreen stared.

"MY FACE! MY FACE! IT'S COVERED IN PAPER CUTS!" The dork cried. Gee, spending so much time with him made me miss Mark.

Doreen opened her mouth to speak, "Roger, you're-"

"Fired?" I asked, beating her to the punch. She nodded gravely and I shrugged in response. "Bye then, Dory."

"THE PAPER CUTS! THEY _BURN_!"

**A/N: Haha so yeah. I hated that a hell of a lot. Wow. It's got to be the strangest thing I've ever written. But I still need your feedbackkkkkkk. Whether you agree or not. So remember the review deal, and get reviewing.**

**If I do end up continuing this, now that I've basically dropped out of school, I'll have nothing but time during the day to do it, so the updates will probably be faster.**


	4. The Job Search Continues

**A/N: Would you look at that? I **_**have**_** returned for another chapter. Sorry the update took so long. This one was the second out of like five drafts I did for this chapter. I could NOT get it right. I didn't want to post this. I feel I'm letting you down. But I've gotten myself grounded, and if I don't post this, I won't be able to post for another week or two. So you're going to have to deal. I'm sorry.**** Next thing I write after I update this will be ANGST. I swear. Alrigh, let's do this now, ramble later.**

When I finally got back to the loft after my ever-so-eventful first day at work, no one was there. I figured that was a good thing; I wouldn't have to face telling everyone that I'd gotten fired so early. But on the other hand, that did proved my point. Maybe my friends would realize that I'm just not cut out for this shit. I could go back to doing absolutely nothing. They'd just deal with it like they had before.

Anyway, it wasn't until the next morning when I was sitting in the kitchen drinking my coffee that Mark arrived at the loft…

"Goooooooood morning Roger…" My dorky, dorky friend sang as the door slid open. He came in with a smile and a plastic bag. I generally don't speak to him until after I've finished my coffee. What made this day so different? But seeing as I screwed up on the job thing, I owed him a tiny bit of kindness. And he just looked so fucking happy. How do you crush a happy albino's spirits?

"Well aren't you in a Mark-A-Dee-Doo-Dah mood?" I laughed, and put my coffee mug down on the counter. It was almost scary how smiley he looked, grinning like a cartoon character. They should pay him to walk around Disneyland and scare children. "So what's up with the good mood, Marky Mouse? You get laid or something?" I asked with a smirk.

He chose to ignore my clever nickname.

"Rog, you don't have to have sex to be happy." He replied, rolling his eyes at me.

"Alright, you just keep telling yourself that." I said with a shrug, "So why are you so smiley-like, then?"

He looked at me and considered it for a second, then sat down. "I guess we're all just proud of your open-mindedness to this whole job thing. We're just happy you have one." He explained.

Oh, fuck. My friends are proud of me for having a job that I lost. No guilt today, _please_…

"Yeah, about that, Mark, I-"

"The fact that you're willing to get up off your lazy ass and work is so _weird_. In a good way, I mean! It's been a while since you've had a job. So this is a big change for you." He continued. He just had to keep getting nicer and nicer, didn't he? How could I break it to him gently?

"Thanks Mark, but I sort of-"

"So what are you doing sitting around here? You've got a job to get to." He hopped up from his seat.

"But Mark-" I hesitated. I never hesitate. WHY was he making me feel so guilty? Mark NEVER compliments me! And the one time he does, I don't even deserve it? Is the universe out to get me or what?

"But what?" He urged me on confusedly, furrowing his brow.

"…I got fired." I admitted with a sigh.

He just looked at me. Why was he looking at me like that? Did he not understand? Was he mad? Disappointed? He was opening his mouth. Oh God. I was getting ready for his frustration. What was he going to say?

"Rog, I know."

_What?_

"Wait, you know?" I asked, not quite understanding, "What do you mean you know?"

He laughed and shook his head, "I mean I know that you got fired."

_What?_

It sort of took me a second to process it, "Wait. If you know that I got fired, what was with all the proud-of-me-having-a-job shit?" I questioned. Why can't everyone just make sense? Every once in a while my friends should really throw me a freebie and be normal. Maybe once a year.

"Of course you have a job, where did you think I was this morning, Roger?" Mark said, making no sense at all. He must have noticed all the confusion on my face, because he tossed me the plastic bag he'd come in with. "Look inside there." He commanded. I did.

Oh _hell_ no. A uniform for…

"_McDonalds_? Are you KIDDING me?" I pleaded with him exasperatedly, "That's my new job?"

"Hey," He countered, "you could've worked in an air-conditioned office, but you had to go and build a fort." He reminded me, with a smirk. Hey, at least he found it amusing.

"But how did you-"

"Benny called." Mark explained.

Of _course_ Benny called. I should have guessed that…

"Well in that case, it wasn't a fort. It was a fucking _castle_." I corrected him.

Mark just laughed. "C'mon, get dressed, you're gonna be late."

Rog-a-palooza was no fort...

* * *

"Nope. Not doing it. Forget about it. We're going home. I'm NOT taking this job." I insisted, turning around and walking back down the sidewalk in the direction that me and Mark had come from. If he thought he was getting me to work in that place, he was highly _mistaken_. Mark was trying with all his might to drag me back towards the McDonalds. But fortunately for me, Mark's Mark. He can't really drag anyone anywhere. Instead, I was sort of dragging him in _my_ chosen direction. It's good to have friends who are weaker than you. I recommend it.

"Roger! Stop. I don't get it. What's wrong with the place? You knew we were going to McDonalds!"

I whipped around to face him, "Mark, you got me a job at the McDonalds on _West 42__nd__ Street_." I laid out the facts, trying to get him to comprehend.

"I know I did! What's wrong with West 42nd Street?" He asked.

"Well, Mark, let's see. What are some places on West 42nd Street?"

"…McDonalds?"

"Very good, and what _else_? Look around us. There are clues." I said, gesturing to West 42nd at large.

Mark turned around, "The New Amsterdam Theater…?" He answered, choosing the location we were closest to.

"EXACTLY!" I exclaimed. "The New Amsterdam Theater. Now look at that sign, Mark," I said pointing to a gigantic billboard above us, "What is playing in the Amsterdam Theater?

Mark looked up, and realization seemed to dawn on him. "Mary Poppins!" He replied.

"GOOD! And that means…" I said, leaving him to finish my thought.

"That small children hyped up on spoonfuls of sugar will be coming into McDonalds after they see the show!"

"BINGO!" At last he puts the pieces together. "And what is Roger's _least_ favorite thing?"

"Small children!"

Corrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrect!" I congratulated, "Good job and thank you for playing!"

Mark looked pleased for a second; as if he had forgotten that he wasn't on a real game show. Even if I did have a game show, it would probably get cancelled. We walked for a little while longer, until he finally said something.

"So…no McDonalds?"

"Nope."

"And what happens now?"

I shrugged halfheartedly, "The job search continues."

**A/N: It's half-decent, right?**** Sorry. I really wanted to write Roger at McDonalds so he'll probably end up working there anyway. Shh. It's a secret. Roger doesn't know yet. Don't tell him. **

**Anyway, I hope this was alright and you should definitely review if you want updates to be fast. ****By the way****,** **I have a LiveJournal now! So if you have one, you should definitely add me on there. Because I have like no friends. Haha. So it's thenamesjames. Add it.**

**Review.**


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